Parātrīṃśikā Vivaraṇa (Part 76): On Scriptural Authority, Direct Realization, and the Honesty to Admit One’s Limit

 

How many scholars engaged in Trika Tradition can actually say, with dignity, “we are not direct knowers of that” as Abhinava did in this movement?

Abhinava now makes another subtle turn. In the previous chunk, he argued carefully that the word atha should not be treated as marking a crude external sequence, but only a pedagogically manifested succession within the one reality of Akula / anuttara and its appearing as creation. That already protected the text from a superficial reading. But now he acknowledges that there is yet another line of interpretation in the tradition — one not based on mere grammatical carelessness, but on a deeper āgamic vision associated with Somānanda. According to that view, the very syllables a-tha themselves carry a direct Śiva-Śakti significance, and can even be taken as anuttara itself.

This makes the present movement very delicate. Abhinava is no longer dismissing a weak pūrvapakṣa. He is now engaging a more serious traditional interpretation, one grounded in āgamic insight. At the same time, he remains intellectually honest: he does not pretend full direct realization of that specific āgamic current where he does not have it. So the movement of this chunk is not polemical in the earlier sense, but discriminating and restrained. He presents a powerful inherited interpretation of atha, explains the logic behind it, and then carefully marks the limit of his own direct competence regarding that particular āgama.

Some have explained, on the basis of Somānanda’s āgamic statement, that the very two syllables “a-tha” themselves are anuttara

yattu śrīsomānandapādāḥ

akāraḥ śiva ityuktasthakāraḥ śaktirucyate |

ityāgamapradarśanena atha ityetāvadevānuttaram
... iti vyācacakṣire

“But Śrī Somānandapāda has said:

‘The letter a is said to be Śiva, and the letter tha is called Śakti.’

On the strength of this āgamic indication, some have explained that these very two syllables, a-tha, are themselves anuttara.”

Abhinava continues working with the opening word of the 5th verse of the Parātrīśikā Tantra:

athādyāstithayaḥ sarve svarā bindvavasānagāḥ...

So the question is no longer just the ordinary grammatical force of atha. It is the deeper significance of the very syllables with which this new textual unfolding begins. At this point he brings in Somānanda, and the authority matters greatly, because this is not a random speculative gloss. The statement “akāraḥ śiva ity uktaḥ, thakāraḥ śaktir ucyate” belongs to Somānanda’s Śivadṛṣṭi-current, and on that basis some have explained that the very compound atha is itself anuttara.

That changes the level of the discussion. The word is no longer treated as a mere connective particle. Its phonemic body becomes charged: a as Śiva, tha as Śakti. So atha is heard as a compact Śiva-Śakti unity and therefore as a verbal body of the unsurpassable. This means that, while in the previous chunk Abhinava was correcting weaker and more external readings, here he is engaging something much more serious: a higher āgamic interpretation tied to Somānanda himself and brought to bear on the 5th Tantra verse.

That is why the tone here should remain careful. Abhinava is not mocking this reading. He is marking a genuine traditional possibility whose force he clearly recognizes, even while he will later define the limits of his own direct competence regarding that specific āgamic line.

On that reading, no earlier doubt about sequence remains, because by the principle of adhikaraṇa-siddhānta, once one thing is established, the rest follow of themselves

[tathā ca sati
adhikaraṇasiddhāntanītyā yat pūrvamuktaṃ yadyapi paurvāparyaṃ na saṃbhavati tathā
tūṣṇīṃbhāvāderapi ityādi tacchaṅkaiva kācinnāstīti | ekasminkārye siddhe
kāryāntarāṇi svayameva siddhyanti yatra so'dhikaraṇasiddhāntaḥ |]

“And if that is so, then by the principle called adhikaraṇa-siddhānta, the earlier objection no longer remains — namely, that although real before-and-after is not possible, one might otherwise have to allow such sequence even after mere silence and the like. For where one thing is established, the other connected things are established of themselves: that is what is meant by adhikaraṇa-siddhānta.”

Abhinava now states what follows if one accepts the Somānanda-based reading of atha as itself Śiva-Śakti and therefore anuttara. In that case, one of the earlier anxieties disappears. Previously he had argued that atha cannot be treated as a loose marker of succession, otherwise one could use it almost anywhere, even after mere silence, and meaningful cognition would collapse. But if atha is itself already charged with the reality of Śiva-Śakti, then the issue changes. The sequence is no longer a thin external ordering imposed from outside. It is grounded in the word’s own ontological content.

That is where adhikaraṇa-siddhānta comes in. The principle is simple but important: once the fundamental point is established, the connected points follow from it of themselves. If the locus or governing basis is secure, the subordinate implications do not need to be separately forced. So here, once atha is understood as a compact Śiva-Śakti unity, the earlier worry about arbitrary succession no longer bites in the same way. The problem is absorbed into a deeper basis.

This point shows why the Somānanda-based reading is not trivial. It does not merely decorate atha with symbolism. It actually changes the force of the whole argument about sequence. That is why Abhinava is treating it seriously.

This interpretation is connected with the intention of equivalence or coextension between thakāra and hakāra

thakārahakārasamavyāptikatābhiprāyeṇa

“It is with the intention of the coextension or equivalence of thakāra and hakāra.”\

Abhinava now indicates the more technical intention behind that Somānanda-based reading. The interpretation does not rest only on the bare statement that a is Śiva and tha is Śakti. It is also tied to an intended samavyāptikatā between thakāra and hakāra — a kind of equivalence, overlap, or coextensive significance between those phonemic forms.

The exact technical implications still need careful unfolding, but the basic point is already clear: the reading is operating in a field where phonemes are not inert signs. Their doctrinal force can extend, correspond, and resonate across forms. So the tha in atha is not being isolated as a random consonant. It is being heard within a broader network of Śakti-signification, one that allows this interpretive move to have real traditional weight.

This is important because it shows again that the reading Abhinava is presenting is not a casual piece of symbolic play. It belongs to a serious phonemic-metaphysical current. That is why he is careful with it rather than dismissive. The interpretation is subtle enough to require real restraint.

Its doctrinal basis is that in the first ullāsa there is the non-difference of the power that creates the endless multitude of entities

sarvatra prathamollāse
prasaradanantānantavastusṛṣṭiśaktyabhedarūpatvāt

“Because everywhere, in the first ullāsa, there is the form of non-difference of the power that creates the endless multitude of entities as it expands.”

Abhinava now gives the doctrinal basis for that phonemic interpretation. The reason atha can be read so densely is that, at the level of the prathama-ullāsa, the first flashing-forth or first emergence, there is still abheda, non-difference, in the very power that unfolds the endless multitude of things. In other words, manifestation has already begun to expand, but the power behind that expansion has not yet broken into real separateness.

That is crucial. The power that creates the innumerable spread of entities is still one in its essence at that first emergence. So if one reads a-tha as compactly bearing Śiva and Śakti, this does not imply two separate principles assembled afterward. It fits the metaphysics: the first ullāsa is already the expansive power of manifestation, but still in non-difference.

So this line strengthens the Somānanda-based reading by giving it ontological grounding. The phonemic interpretation is not arbitrary symbolism. It reflects the actual structure of the earliest emergence of manifestation, where the many are already implied, but the power expressing them remains undivided.

And that it is also the support of the supreme nāda in the form of the life present in all beings

sarvabhūtasthajīvanarūpaparanādāvalambanarūpatvācca

“And also because it has the nature of being the support of the supreme nāda, in the form of the life present in all beings.”

Abhinava now adds another layer to the same interpretation. The basis is not only that, in the first ullāsa, the power of creation remains non-different while expanding into the endless multitude of entities. He now says that it is also the support — avalambana — of the supreme nāda, and that this nāda is present as the very life abiding in all beings.

That is important because the earlier point already established the metaphysical side: the many arise from one undivided power. Here he adds the more inward, vibrational side. The same reality is not only the source of creation in general; it is also what supports the living current, the supreme nāda, in every being. So this is not a merely cosmological doctrine. It reaches directly into life itself. The sound-current is not somewhere else. It is supported in the living principle present throughout all beings.

This strengthens the Somānanda-based reading again. If a-tha is read as carrying Śiva and Śakti in compact unity, that is not an abstract word-game. It resonates with the fact that the earliest non-differentiated creative power is also the living support of the supreme nāda present in all. The phoneme, the ontological emergence, and the life-current are being held together in one field.

Abhinava says that he has not examined this meaning of “atha” in full detail

atha-śabdārthasya tat nāsmābhiḥ vitatya vivecitam -

“But that meaning of the word atha has not been examined by us in full detail.”

Abhinava now does something very rare and very honorable: he marks a limit. After presenting a serious Somānanda-based āgamic interpretation of atha, and after indicating the doctrinal basis that could support it, he does not pretend mastery he does not claim. He says plainly: we have not unfolded and discriminated this meaning in full detail.

That matters a great deal. This is not weakness. It is intellectual cleanliness. A lesser commentator would either ignore the interpretation, or absorb it too quickly into his own system, or bluff a certainty he had not earned. Abhinava does none of that. He acknowledges the real force of the reading, but also says: this particular line has not been fully worked out by us.

So this point changes the tone of the chunk. Until now he has been presenting the possibility with care. Here he places a boundary around his own direct exposition. That makes what follows more trustworthy, not less. Because when he does speak with full decision, we know he is not doing so cheaply.

The reason is that he and his circle are not directly realized knowers of that particular āgama

tādṛśasya āgamasya yato na sākṣādvayamabhijñāḥ

“For we are not directly realized knowers of such an āgama.”

This is a devastating line. Abhinava has just presented a subtle and powerful traditional interpretation of atha, one rooted in Somānanda and supported by genuine āgamic depth. He clearly sees its force. He does not mock it, flatten it, or dismiss it. But then he stops and says, in substance: we are not direct knowers of that āgama. Therefore, we will not pretend to unfold it as though we were.

That is extraordinary intellectual chastity.

And yes, it throws a harsh light on much of the modern atmosphere around Trika. Let's be brutally honest, today the tradition often feels like it has drifted into a kind of cabinet-scholar mode: endless lectures, papers, conferences, subtle terminologies, careful citations, rivers of words — but often with very little sign that the speaker feels the terror of saying more than he truly knows. One can juggle prakāśa, vimarśa, spanda, ābhāsa, anuttara, and fifty layers of Śaiva vocabulary, and still never once utter a sentence as clean and dangerous as this one: “we are not direct knowers of that.”

That is why the line matters so much. It is not anti-intellectual. Abhinava is one of the most intellectually overwhelming men who ever lived. He is not rejecting subtle thought. He is rejecting counterfeit authority. He is showing that real rigor includes the capacity to stop. To recognize a current, honor it, and yet refuse to annex it into one’s own speech unless one has direct warrant.

And that is precisely what makes him trustworthy. A lesser mind either dismisses what it does not grasp, or colonizes it with verbosity. Abhinava does neither. He draws a boundary. Not out of timidity, but out of strength. He knows that āgama is not a dead textual archive to be mined indefinitely by cleverness. It is something that demands sākṣātkāra. Without that, one may describe, compare, infer, and gesture — but one should not speak as lord of the territory.

So this line lands like judgment on all merely scholastic inflation. Not because scholarship is useless, but because scholarship without existential truthfulness becomes word-jungle. And Trika, of all traditions, dies quickly in that condition. Its terms are too luminous, too total, too easily turned into verbal theater. Abhinava here refuses theater. He chooses a limit over a lie.

That is why this sentence feels so alive. It protects the dignity of the tradition more than a thousand symposiums do.

But those who directly realized such an āgama and could withstand hundreds of arguments gave at least the sūtra-form, even if only a dust-fragment display or brief gloss

taistu tathā-vidhāgamasākṣātkāribhiranekayuktiśatasahiṣṇutā sūtragranthasya

sūtritaiva dhūlibhedapradarśanamapi [cūrṇikārthābhidhānam |]

“But those who had direct realization of such an āgama, and who could endure hundreds of lines of reasoning, at least gave it in sūtra-form — even if only as a display of a dust-fragment, a brief indication of the meaning.”

Abhinava now balances the previous restraint with reverence. He and his circle do not claim direct realization of that specific āgamic current. Fine. But that does not mean nobody did. There were those who did have āgama-sākṣātkāra — direct realization of that line — and they were also strong enough to withstand hundreds of arguments without losing the current. That combination matters. Not just experience without articulation. Not just argument without realization. Both.

And what did such people leave behind? Not necessarily a full spacious exposition. Sometimes only sūtra-form. Sometimes only a dhūli-bheda-pradarśana — a showing of a dust-particle, a tiny fragment, a hint. That image is powerful. It means: even a real knower may leave only a shard, only a compressed sign, only a spark. But that spark has more truth in it than a mountain of second-hand elaboration.

This too lands hard on the modern condition. Today people often imagine the opposite: if something is short, obscure, incomplete, or only hinted, then perhaps it was primitive, unsystematic, or insufficiently developed. Abhinava’s line cuts through that delusion. Sometimes the text is short because the current was too dense to be vulgarized. Sometimes only a trace is left because the trace came from direct fire, not from the need to fill pages or impress committees.

So this point is visceral in a different way from the previous one. The previous line was about the courage to say “I do not directly know this.” This line is about the dignity of those who did know — and who, even when they left only a compressed fragment, left something weightier than endless derivative chatter. A dust-particle from such a source may carry more living force than volumes of competent emptiness.

And with that very intention, Somānanda and others have expanded this teaching both here in the Parātrīśikā and elsewhere in other āgamas

tenaivābhiprāyeṇa [tenaiva - samavyāptikatābhiprāyeṇa] tairitaśca [taiḥ - somānandapādaiḥ itaḥ
parātriṃśikālakṣaṇāt amuta iti tattadāgamāt |] amutaśca vitatam |

“And with that very intention — namely, with that intention of coextension — they, that is, Somānandapāda and the others, have unfolded it both here, in the Parātrīśikā, and elsewhere, in those other āgamas as well.”

Abhinava now closes the movement by saying that this line of interpretation is not an isolated curiosity. It was not thrown out once and forgotten. With that very abhiprāya — that same interpretive intention, here glossed as the intention of samavyāptikatā, coextension — Somānanda and the others unfolded it both here and elsewhere. Here, in the current Parātrīśikā-line; elsewhere, in other āgamic streams.

That matters because it gives the interpretation real traditional breadth. Abhinava has just said, with admirable rigor, that he and his circle are not direct realizers of that specific āgama. He has also honored those who were, and who left even brief sūtra-like traces. Now he adds: this was not some stray fragment. It belongs to a wider current that runs through multiple scriptural bodies.

So the point lands with a kind of sober force. Abhinava neither annexes this current into his own speech cheaply, nor dismisses it because it lies outside his immediate direct warrant. He does something rarer: he marks its dignity, its real transmission, and its extension across texts, while still maintaining exact honesty about the limit of his own direct realization. That is a very high form of fidelity.